


Bad Knees and Honey Mead

by Freskabri



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: And Kul Tirans Are Thick, Anyways- I just wanted to write something for Flynn, Body Worship, Character Study, Dogs, Drabbles, Drinking in Precarious Places, Fluff, Flynn goes to Stormheim, Flynn takes a dang nap, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Minor Unnamed OCs - Freeform, Scars, Shaw has wonky knees. You will not take this from me., Stormwind Is Humid, but entirely sfw, there's no ACTUAL torture i swear, travelling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26895508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freskabri/pseuds/Freskabri
Summary: A thoughtful beginning, an unknown ending, and perhaps a friendship somewhere in-between.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Comments: 21
Kudos: 44





	1. A Touch of Introspection

The harbor is as dreary as ever, rain and wind whipping Flynn's face as he staggers off of the  _ Middenwake _ . Home, as miserable as the damned place can get sometimes. Most of the time. Anyways.

All things considered, he's relieved to be back- the expedition to the Rotting Mire left everyone on the ship feeling particularly nasty, though he's sure the three adventurers who led the actual assault are feeling the worst of it. Flynn pauses in the middle of the gangplank, then strides back up to poke his head below decks. One of the adventurers- a mage, looks like- is chatting with some of his crew, while the other two are asleep on each other's shoulders.

He barely stifles a snort at it, still catching the attention of the conscious parties. They glance over at him, the mage's brow raised. Flynn just offers a two-fingered salute. "Sorry, won't be long. Just wanted to let the crew know-" A pause for him to suck in a breath, "-I want all of you off the ship! Break time for everyone, we can get back to all this mess in the mornin'."  The declaration is met with tired cheers, which wakes the other two adventurers- who immediately jump away from each other like they've been burnt. He can't help a laugh, then, thankful that they join in.

"You three get some rest, too. Sure as it's rainin', you've earned it." Flynn offers a flourish of a bow, before he finally trudges off the ship. He's a sailing man for sure, but after that wretched mission, he wants nothing more than a warm drink and a warmer bed. Maybe a bath. Warm, of course.

Flynn glances up at the  _ Wind's Redemption _ as he passes it, pausing in thought. He could go bother the Spymaster, but even just thinking about that is making him tired. And so, he shuffles on. Tomorrow, for sure.

Passing through Cyrus' office with a wave to the man and Tae takes no time at all; making his way up the stairs and out into the weather again doesn't either. It's only when he's paused to check his mail outside the nearby tavern that he considers leaving the drinks to someone else.

Highly uncharacteristic for him, but at the moment he just wants a nap. Or four. Maybe to just hibernate, y'know? He can become a bear, and sleep in a nice warm cave... Ah. Drifting.

Flynn shakes his head, water slinging off his admittedly shabby ponytail and onto another adventurer. He can only be thankful they seem to be a shaman; their summoned water elemental is making bubbling sounds from the rain. Kind of cute, actually, considering the elemental has a few goldfish swimming around inside of it.

Drifting again. He should really get home. And so off he goes again, past the gryphon master- stopping to pet Galeheart for Tae, of course- and down into the lower city. Water drips down his neck from his hair, and Flynn flips his collar up to try and stem the flow. Obviously, it doesn't work.

A sigh escapes him, and his mind wanders aimlessly. He's not felt this off-kilter since... well, it's been a long time. Either way, he's really not a fan of it, and would appreciate it if it stopped, yeah? Yeah.

Except, by the time he's reached his little shabby home in Dampwick, Flynn is entirely soaked through; rainwater and the hollow feeling in his chest having spread throughout him fully. Gonna be one of those nights then. Wonderful. He checks the outside of his place first for any intrusion- crooked windows still intact, and the door isn't busted in. All good signs.

Flynn elbows the doorknob in just the right way for it to click open, stepping inside with heavy steps. The door closes behind him with a bit of jamming, and then he's finally home. A fleeting sense of paranoia has him check the corners of the room, a sigh of relief slipping from him once he's determined he's safe. After having worked with the Alliance for some time now, he feels like an even bigger target than usual has been stuck on his back.

Then the thought of the Alliance has him thinking about missions, and missions make him think about  _ Zuldazar _ , and- Flynn realizes he really doesn't want to think right about now.

"Enough of that," he mutters to himself, already divesting himself of his coat and shirt. They're tossed over the back of one of his rickety kitchen chairs, along with the rest of his clothing. A change of clothes is found- linen pants, and a good, soft shirt. Comfort out of the way, here comes the trouble of living in this area.

Opening his cabinets to look for food only reminds him that he'd forgotten to buy anything. Again. Possibly for the ninetieth time since this blasted war began. He's never gone hungry, at least- getting paid by the Alliance makes his life pretty damned cushy, all things considered. But, with his job being sailing, it's no sense to buy things that will spoil.

Or nicer things, for that matter. Flynn peers around at his worn-down house, then drags a hand down his face as he resigns himself to being hungry. There is no way in any power he's going back out in the downpour, so instead he shuffles over to his bed, sliding under the covers with a jaw-cracking yawn.

At the very least, he sleeps well; dreams come and go easily, and he doesn't wake up with his heart hammering in his chest for one reason or another. A good night.

Flynn can only go so long without eating though- at least when he's fully capable of finding something. Noon the next day finds him pulling on a spare outfit and shuffling back out the door for some grub. He's thankful that the weather is at least more agreeable; rain giving away to merely heavy clouds and wind.

He stretches as he heads back into the market, back popping. Should really get new bedding. Not today. For now, Flynn steps into the Snug Harbor Inn, offering a grin to the barkeep- Wesley. Probably should remember his name by now, with how often he's here. A sleeping white cat on the counter is given a few soft pets, causing her to 'mrrrp' at him.

Wesley eyes him over, already moving to grab a bottle from under the counter. "Y'look like y'just got the daylights punched outta ya, Fairwind. Want th' usual?"

Flynn scoffs. "I'll have you know, this is how I always look! Always gettin' punched, after all." Wesley laughs at that, taking Flynn's flask and filling it. In the meantime, Flynn turns his head to look around the inn.

It's mostly empty by now, being after noon, but there are still a few stragglers here and there. A man still passed out by the door catches his eye, and after he drops a few coins into the barkeep's hand for his flask, Flynn steps over.

He notes the man's appearance. Dockworker-type, with strong arms and tanned skin. Older- though not much. After a moment of consideration, Flynn pulls a small, handwritten card out of his pocket and tucks it into the man's shirt. If nothing else, he can offer him a better job.

And so, with a last wave to Wesley, Flynn heads out once more.

The prospect of food isn't as appealing as it was earlier for whatever reason, so he finds himself scaling the buildings closer to the docks to sit on a roof ledge. From here, he can see the market, along with the small area surrounding the  _ Wind's Redemption _ . Adventurers come and go, some chatting among themselves and laughing at each other.

He's lucky he gets a day off. Watching everyone milling about was always one of his favorite pastimes even before the Alliance showed up, and now there's more to see. People check their mail, others trade with the various merchants. Those closer to the docks sometimes talk loud enough that he can hear them complaining about armor repairs, or other such things.

The sun breaks through the clouds an hour or so later, as a familiar face steps up onto the deck of the Alliance ship- figuratively and literally, as if the weather itself was afraid of getting on Shaw's bad side. Flynn has, by this point taken his coat off again to lay beside him, and he fiddles with the collar of it as he watches others filter out onto the deck.

He knows Wyrmbane, of course- gets his orders from him after all. Good man, bit up his own rear sometimes, but a good man. Then the Kaldorei general, Shandris- he doesn't know her that well, really. Kinda frightens him, if he's being honest.

But his attention only strays away from Shaw for a moment. Even from here, he swears he can see the agitation radiating off of him. Flynn takes a swig from his flask, then angles it in the sun just right...

Shaw's attention snaps up as the light glances across his face, hand twitching towards his belt- and then he sees Flynn. Flynn, who is currently waving like a madman. He watches the Spymaster close his eyes for a brief second, before responding to something Shandris says with a slightly more bothered look than before.

He waits patiently, swinging his legs over the edge of the roof. Eventually, Shaw holds up his hand in as much a wave as he'll get. Still, Flynn beams happily.

With that out of the way, he finally lays back, satisfied with watching the clouds for the rest of the day. Flynn's crew will eventually find that he's not showing up, and they'll go home earlier too. He's fine with that. They deserve it, after all.

He can still hear the murmur of the crowds, the squawking of the seagulls, the lap of the waves against stone… It pulls him into a good, warm nap.


	2. Contentment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun is halfway below the horizon, lighting the clouds in gorgeous purples and golds, when near silent steps come from behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! The perspective shifts from Flynn to Mathias after the line break. You'll know.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Time passes, as it always does. Flynn eventually gets up from his nap and actually finds food before his insides try to eat their way out of him. But in the end, he returns to the roof again, watching the seabirds bobbing out on the waves.

He doesn't have to wait long. The sun is halfway below the horizon, lighting the clouds in gorgeous purples and golds, when near silent steps come from behind him. He's well aware who it is; only one person could be that quiet and still alert him that they're there.

Flynn lays back just as Shaw stops, looking up with a lazy salute and a crooked grin. The grin persists as the man squats down with a small huff, arms on his knees.

"Fairwind." It's as much greeting as he usually gets, though this time he's graced with a barely raised brow. "Might I ask why you're drinking," Shaw leans slightly to the side to look at the considerable distance to the ground below, before his eyes flick back to Flynn's face, "Up here, of all places?"

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were worried about me, mate." Flynn's grin grows as Mathias' eye twitches. He sits up, taking another swig from his flask as he turns about to face the man. "It's a good view, 'sall. Took off for the day, so I had time to spare." A small silence passes, before he points at Shaw with the hand holding his drink. "What are you doin' up here, though? Not that I'm not enjoyin' the company."

Mathias rolls his shoulder, a half-shrug that pops the joint. "I have a proposal for you, though not entirely of my own volition." Surprisingly, Flynn is patient, only pausing with his flask at his mouth. Shaw's eye twitches again, before he gives a long-suffering sigh. "I've been... _persuaded_ to take leave for a week. Apparently Wyrmbane thinks my knees are giving out on me."

And, there it is. Flynn's expression becomes one of a man who is trying not to laugh, and who is also failing miserably. He aims for a delicate tone, glancing at Shaw's legs briefly, then down towards the _Wind's Redemption_ \- where he spots Shandris and Wyrmbane definitely-not-watching-them. The corner of his mouth twitches up in a grin, and he spares a sly look to Shaw. "Well, you are gettin' old, mate."

A beat passes. Shaw stands to leave. Flynn grabs his coat and scrambles after him, following the man as he slides down the roof and onto the city's border wall. "Hey now, I didn't mean nothin' by it. You do look like you need a break though- your mustache is lookin' a little..." He trails off, watching with a grin as Shaw reaches up to adjust his facial hair.

"I take back my proposal, actually," the man says, a vague tone of humor coloring his words, "I have better things to fill my time with, either way." Flynn pauses just briefly, brow furrowing, before he scuttles along faster to catch up. Was that- did he just...? If he looks close enough, he can see the corner of Shaw's eye crinkled in amusement. Blasted man.

Flynn huffs, lifting an elbow to gently bump Mathias' arm. "Can't take it back if you didn't tell me what it was! Where are you plannin' on goin'?" In the time they've been talking, he didn't even notice that they'd gotten all the way through Dampwick, and are halfway to the street market in Hook Point. "...Where are _we_ going?"

Shaw pulls a folded note out of a hidden pocket in his armor, sparing a glance at it. "Errands. I'm running low on certain supplies, and I'd like to restock before-" He grunts, as Flynn is suddenly tugging him towards one of the nearby buildings. Attempting to wrestle his arm back proves fruitless against the sailor's grip, and he resigns himself to yet another distraction. "Fairwind, I don't have time for this!"

Not letting up, Flynn continues to pull the spy along, grinning a bit wildly. "Sure you do! Everyone's got time for cute puppies, mate. Besides, I haven't been here in a while, and I don't want to lose you."

* * *

And that's how Mathias Shaw finds himself sitting in a chair in the corner of Ruff Waters all of three minutes later, Fairwind setting a particularly wiggly basset hound puppy in his lap. The Captain looks proud of himself, for reasons unknown, and Shaw can't help but look down at the animal he's been trapped with. A hesitant hand comes up to pat the puppy, and he gets licked for his efforts.

"See? She likes you already!" Fairwind folds up his coat, putting it on the floor at Mathias' feet before sitting on it. Almost immediately, four other dogs come to assault the Captain, with multiple others lifting their heads to look over. "Alright, alright- hey!" One of them makes a solid attempt to shove her tongue up his nose, and Mathias has to bite his cheek to keep the sudden bubble of laughter from escaping. "I know you want treats, Delilah, but you gotta be patient."

Mathias doesn't respond just yet, lifting the puppy he was given and scrutinizing her. She wriggles in his hands from being picked up, then yawns right in his face. Puppy breath. Truthfully, he's not sure how to feel about that, or about how her ears are nearly the size of her whole body. Setting her down again, he glances at Fairwind- who is now pulling treats out of nowhere and giving out to a small crowd of dogs. "Do you do this often, Captain Fairwind?"

Fairwind grins up at him. "You know it! Most of them are waitin' to get picked up by folks, so I come by and give them all the love they're missin' out on." He rolls his shoulders, continuing. "Helps when I'm havin' an off day, too. Nothin' beats being licked half to death by a horde of excited puppies."

He's not sure he agrees with that sentiment in particular, but Mathias will- _secretly_ \- admit that he is enjoying this. Allowing the corners of his mouth to quirk up, he leans back in his seat and watches the puppy try to chew on the leathers of his belts for a time. Faintly, Mathias registers that he never told Fairwind his proposal, but it can wait. The man seems to be preoccupied with petting dogs, and not-so-subtly glancing up at him. What for, he can't say, but he's content to sit and observe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! This one is a bit shorter than the last, because I was actually kind of struggling with dialog. Truth be told, this chapter and... the next? Might be the only ones with a significant amount. I like to write pieces in the perspective of a dream-like state, if that makes sense.
> 
> Also, thank you for the comments on chapter one! I was extremely excited to see people taking the time to do so. Updates won't always happen this quickly, as my inspiration comes and goes with the tides, but I'm usually always working on something!


	3. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unbearable humidity can provide the clearest of thoughts, sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Updated the tags, you might have noticed. This is no longer going to be a straightforward multi-chapter story! Rather, I'm going to do a bunch of little snippets that might connect to each other here and there. If a chapter is a direct continuation of the one before it, I'll place that in the beginning notes!
> 
> I hope you enjoy! This one was fun to write :)

There's something to be said about Stormwind's sunsets, Flynn thinks. For one, you can actually watch the sun go down over the water- unlike in Kul Tiras, where you have to travel to the western end of Stormsong for it. The skies are different as well; Boralus' towering, puffy clouds shine gold in the sun, while Stormwind's hang low and wispy, shimmering faintly with color.

Either way, he does enjoy both... even if he _does_ prefer seeing the sunset out on the open sea more.

But that's neither here nor there, truly. Flynn finds himself drawn to an overlook in Stormwind's Mage Quarter, up where some of the Illidari hold their post. They don't seem to mind him coming up there to sit, as long as he doesn't touch anything. During the week or two he's been visiting, some have even begun to nod in his direction as a greeting. Familiarity, that easily.

There's something to be said about Stormwind's weather, Flynn thinks, and it's that it's _sweltering_ even this late in the season. He's a man built for chilly weather and colder winds, for surf and spray. Boralus is comfortable in that regard, and even in the last dregs of Autumn he'll pop the buttons of his shirt open happily and easily.

But Stormwind differs. Where Boralus- Kul Tiras as a whole, really- is generally cooler and moderately dry, Stormwind is humid beyond belief, and it makes the warm air feel like breathing soup straight from the pot.

So, it's safe to say that while he's at the overlook one unbearably boiling evening, Flynn is genuinely considering following the clothing practices of the Illidari behind him and stripping down to his shorts. He won't, because he's a Decent Person (usually), but he's considering it heavily. At most, he's taken off everything but his trousers. Again, because he’s a Decent Person.

His suffering must be obvious and pitiful enough, because one of the Illidari unfolds her wings to fan him with it. He'll buy her lunch tomorrow, or something. It's a tad hard to think with his brain melting out of his ears, and all.

He hears the harbor bells down below, watching as a Kul Tiran ship glides seamlessly to a stop at the docks. It's a sore reminder of home, and the cool breezes one can always relish in atop the city wall. A hand comes up to wipe away sweat from his brow, and Flynn grimaces. His arm is just as uncomfortably damp as the rest of him.

Flynn is rescued from his slow, sweaty death by the sound of leather boots on the stones behind him. It's not a new sound by any chance- the first day he found himself up on the overlook was ended by the same. So he turns, and finds himself grinning fondly as Shaw steps closer. A small flash of tiredness runs through the Spymaster's eyes, and Flynn knows it's going to be a one-sided conversation kind of night.

He's fine with that, genuinely. Evenings like these give him a chance to indulge in Shaw's unfaltering ear. Gathering his coat and other things, he pulls his shirt and boots back on while following after Shaw on their way back…

Home. A prospect he'd not considered when diving into this with the man. Home for him has always been his room on the _Middenwake_ , or the shack in Dampwick, or any number of taverns he can find his place in. Now, though, he stumbles briefly over his boots at the thought that he might find a home in Stormwind.

Shaw raises a thin brow at his clumsy feet, but doesn't ask. Not even a quip on his drinking habits- a true testament to his exhaustion. Flynn merely waves him off, launching into a series of complaints about the weather and _aren't-you-melting-in-that-armor_? It's an obvious distraction, but he'd rather not elaborate to the man on his sudden inner turmoil.

By the time they've arrived at Shaw's apartments, hidden among the endless twists and turns and alleys of Old Town, Flynn has transitioned from complaints, to pausing outside of a lively tavern because _I-know-that-song-actually_ , to singing songs of his own. He can see a ghost of a smile on the man's face; the faint quirk of his lip under his mustache. It faintly eases his troubles, and by the time the two have stepped inside the building, they've mostly subsided.

He hangs his coat on the hook inside the doorway, pausing with the sleeves still in his hands. Beside him, Mathias- and he can call him that, here- is quietly toeing off his boots, pressing his thumb into a sore ankle. It startles him then, how terribly _domestic_ this all is, and more so how he doesn't actually mind. Flynn is sure his crew would laugh at him if he said so. But, they would also be kind, in their own odd ways. He’s known them long enough to hear some of their own private thoughts as well.

Mathias- and isn't it a _joy_ that he's allowed to call him that?- looks up at him, places a hand on his arm, and waits for Flynn to return from his thoughts somewhere past the twin moons in the sky. It takes time, of course. Flynn stares at him, silently mapping out all the freckles the sun browns onto his face, the barest hint of wrinkles from his frowning, and the thin, amused crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. Slowly, surely, Flynn returns to Azeroth.

He lifts a hand to place on Mathias’ cheek, leaning down to kiss him softly. Flynn can feel the man’s smile, and it sets off a fluttering in his chest like a thousand moths around a light. Another kiss, just because he can- because he’s allowed to. Then he nudges the man, ushering him off to sleep. They lay together, limbs tangled wonderfully, and everything feels just right.

Just before he dozes off, Flynn can hear, in the distance, the harbor bells toll once more. Quietly, he begins to consider making another home.


	4. Heatwave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A view through the Spymaster's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! This one is much shorter cause I was just feeling something small today.
> 
> Also felt some Mathias feelings, so... yeah. I can't really tell if he's IC or OOC but you know what, I'm gonna let him have feelings, dammit.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Mathias Shaw doesn't often take breaks from his work. It's far too important to leave; too much needs to be done. But even he will admit to getting frustrated by paperwork- and so, he sometimes vanishes for an hour or two. He's efficient enough that it'll all be done before the day is out.

...Usually, anyways. He finds himself drawn away from his desk on the _Wind's Redemption_ , all the way over to perch himself on a ledge onboard the _Middenwake_. It's strange, truly, how he's finding it easier and easier to put aside his duties for a short time, even if just to be near Captain Fairwind.

He supposes, though, that he should call him Flynn when not at work. It would only make sense, after all, considering their slowly budding relationship. Mathias gives a small ' _hm_ ' at this thought, then sets it aside to peer all the way up the ship's mainmast. Flynn is...

Well, he's _focused_ , for one. His attention is entirely on inspecting the sails for wear and tear, perilously perched on the edge of the crow's nest. It might worry Mathias, if he didn't know Flynn did this nearly every day. Even in the heatwave that's been rolling through the islands, he goes about his routine as planned.

It probably helps that he's also shirtless. Even from here, Mathias can see the sweat running down Flynn's neck; dampening the hair he's twisted up into a bun; sliding down his heavily scarred back. _It's entirely indecent_ , he thinks, continuing to stare. Eventually, Flynn glances down, nearly falling off the mast from waving so excitedly.

If Mathias were to put his mind to it, he could have easily resisted the fond smile and wave that he gives in return. But then Flynn would feel badly about himself and, well... Mathias can't have that. It's almost alarming how he's toppled head-over-heels for the man so quickly; how he's grown so comfortable with this. The thought is something he's gone over before, of course- dozens upon dozens of possibilities, outcomes, cause-and-effects. Nearly every angle examined, and yet...

He can't find a non-paranoid excuse for this to not work out. So, he allows himself to indulge, to play into the things he wants instead of the things he needs to do. It's freeing, truly- and he carefully doesn't think of another in his past when thinking of perhaps going further.

Mathias lets his gaze linger- indulging again- on Flynn for a few moments more, before heading down into the Captain's cabin. He can hear the other scrambling down the rigging after him- and a curse as his foot gets tangled. He chuckles quietly as he sits at Flynn's desk, moving aside a stack of papers so he can rest his arm on the wood. When Flynn finally scuttles in, he immediately comes over, leaning down for a kiss.

It's sweet, warm, and more than a little sweaty, and Mathias finds that he couldn't ask for anything more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will say that I have two more WIPs in my notepad documents at the moment, though there's no telling if I'll finish them or move onto a new one. /sob


	5. Stormheim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But, as he pours over his maps one evening, settled down against the main mast of the Middenwake, he charts his past journeys and realizes: 
> 
> He's a terribly shoddy pirate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just Flynn this time! Also this took a bit because I just got my wisdom teeth out, and it's been terribly distracting.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Edit: I forgot to italicize things /cry

For a man with his own ship, crew and all, Flynn Fairwind suddenly discovers that he's barely seen any of Azeroth as a whole. He lives in Kul Tiras, of course, and has seen the various Azerite-littered islands scattered about the sea. Zandalar was a brief journey that he would probably consider repeating one day, circumstances pending. He's even seen Stormwind's sprawling streets once or twice (or more).

But, as he pours over his maps one evening, settled down against the main mast of the _Middenwake_ , he charts his past journeys and realizes: 

He's a terribly shoddy pirate.

Oh, he's sailed and plundered and the like, of course. He's gotten in his fair share of scuffles and too-drunk bar shanties with their own regrets in the morning. But he's never truly... left _home_ , for one reason or another. _What a waste_ , he thinks, _to have all this and to never have really explored_.

Flynn is well aware he wouldn't be the first to explore anything these days; adventurers and common-folk alike travel far and wide just to do it. Besides, he wouldn't have a map if they hadn't gone first, right? Between all five seas, he's only scratched the _surface_ of one, and at the end of the day:

It eats at him. Endlessly, from the moment he wakes up, until he finally slips into bed late in the evening. Flynn dreams of wild jungles and rocky shores, of small settlements and empty plains. This realization has come with an itch he _yearns_ to scratch, to the point where even his crew has begun to subtly nudge him towards it. Well, subtly as they can, anyways.

But in the end he gives in, and late one summer afternoon, Flynn Fairwind sets sail for the Broken Isles.

* * *

To be truly specific, he goes to Stormheim; to the land of Vrykul and storm drakes. The air here is cool, crisp, clean; he finds himself filling his lungs again and again, breathing out the sea air that's been a part of him for as long as he's lived. It's a bittersweet thought, that he might be losing that tether back to home. 

Realistically though, he knows it's something he'll never lose, and so he wanders further and further inland, seeking... _something_.

He's not sure what he's looking _for_ , or if he'll even find it. Slowly, his thoughts stray from that of a hunt, to that of enjoying the journey. The birch trees in the forests here seem to light the sky with golden fire in the evening sun; wind whipping through their leaves. _It's an eerie peace_ , he thinks. Distantly, he can hear the echo of a waterfall, and closer than that the sound of a blacksmith working at his anvil. 

The quiet _tink_ of metal on metal follows him up hills, through ravines, and across bridges of stone and wood. Flynn takes pause at one point, looking up at the Gates of Valor from the bridge he'd just crossed. It's an awe-inspiring building, for sure; the detailing and patterns just on the outside give hint to what may lay within. He doesn't enter the building, though- he suspects he wouldn't be very welcome, no matter his intentions. And so he leaves the Gates, heading back the way he came.

Valdisdall isn't very far, and he's welcomed openly by the Vrykul there with strong mead and tender bear meat. It's genuinely strange; the expeditions he'd led had given him rather _negative_ impressions of Vrykul- but he supposes the Fjarnskaggl vendor back in Boralus is nice enough. As he finally goes to rest that night on a crate in the watchtower, Flynn finds that he's giddy with excitement for the morning, and whatever it may bring.

* * *

The morning brings heavy mist and fog, apparently, shrouding the land in a blanket of grey nearly impossible to see through. It's jarringly familiar, and Flynn sets off eagerly to the West, where he was told of a statue that keeps watch over the North. An interesting prospect in itself, but then he's told that the view from the top is 'a sight to behold', and, well...

To say he's invested in seeing this might be a bit of an understatement. Flynn heads off, taking until the early afternoon to wander through forests and sparring grounds; hills and valleys. He stops for lunch along the way, startling as small horde of chipmunks get a bit too close for comfort. He tosses them bits of his sandwich, and they seem appeased. _For now_.

When he finally arrives at the statue itself, Flynn has to crane his head back just to even try seeing the top. Lightning strikes at the head of the statue's axe, thunder echoing throughout the hills. It's nearly unbearably loud, but he didn't get to where he was by taking safety precautions. A small hole in the base provides him entrance, and he steps in quietly.

It's been a long time since anyone came to clean up inside, judging by the dust and cobwebs. What he can only assume are headstones rest against the walls, covered in moss and rot. Unfortunate, but it's how things go, he supposes. Another doorway leads him into a spiraling stairwell, where the rumbling thunder rolls down the steps.

Flynn debates with himself, then shrugs and begins the long, long journey to the top. Piles of skulls at the entrance do throw him off, as well as a whole skeleton, but he chooses to ignore it. 

He's not sure how much time passes while he does this; the only hint he's getting closer being the thunder growing steadily louder ahead of him. Stopping at some point to take a break in an alcove- finding a skull as his break-partner- Flynn wonders aloud why anyone would build this. The skull does not respond, of course. He also wonders who keeps the torches lit, but that's something he can chalk up to magic.

Continuing on, he finds soon enough that he was pretty close to the top; the ceiling opens up above him into a rounded room with an offering table in the middle. Flynn's wide-eyed wonder is immediately shattered by the crack of thunder just outside, barely stifling a yelp by biting on his tongue. Lightning brightens the room through holes in the wall; looking through them confirms they're the statue's eyes.

He's more impressed by the view of the slopes and sea from here, truly. Green hills roll down towards the shimmering water, lit occasionally by a flash of lightning from the dark clouds above. It's a once in a lifetime view, and Flynn's only regret is that he didn't bring anyone to share it with.

Flynn spends an hour or so there, letting the thunder rumble through his bones as he rests. Before he leaves, he digs a handful of coins out of his pocket and sets them on the offering table- a mark to show he was there. In the end, he's sure this is what he was looking for when he left home; an adventure with a reward this grand is a good one indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want Flynn to go on adventures, man. ;u;  
> It got a little ramble-y, but I wanted to give this one an actual end instead of trying to figure out a second part.


	6. Starburst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're up in the crow's nest of the Middenwake late one humid night, sharing drinks and good company, when Flynn reaches over to tap a small, thin scar on the side of Mathias' hand. He asks, "What's this one from?," not entirely expecting an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I caved and wrote a scar fic. /sob
> 
> These are all HCs I have for Flynn, cause I like scars and I like scars with HISTORY. Definitely gonna revisit this in the future to write how he got some of them.
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy!

They're up in the crow's nest of the Middenwake late one humid night, sharing drinks and good company, when Flynn reaches over to tap a small, thin scar on the side of Mathias' hand. He asks, "What's this one from?," not entirely expecting an answer.

Mathias pauses in the middle of bringing Flynn's flask to his mouth, turning his hand over to look at it. He works his jaw for a moment. "I can't actually remember where that one came from," he finally says, "To tell the truth, I forgot it was there."

Flynn gives a hum, tilting his head back and forth in thought. "Fair enough. I've got a few like that myself. Wanna see?" He doesn’t wait for an answer, already tugging his shirt over his head, setting it off to the side with his duster.

Across his chest and stomach are a number of scarred lines, ranging from thick to thin, and all manner of jagged. The most prominent runs all the way from his left shoulder to his right hip- an old one, judging by the coloring. Most of them appear to be glances from blades, though there is a small starburst scar through his right shoulder- a gunshot wound. Another set of thinner scars claw startlingly close to his neck; just low enough that his clothes cover it.

Mathias corks the flask, setting it to the side with a frown. Without thinking, he lifts his hand to trace along the largest one, then moves to touch the starburst. "You were shot." A question, poised as a statement. Flynn hums an affirmative, reaching his own hand up to press against it.

"Was the year before last, or... maybe longer? Dunno. Got in a scuffle with an old enemy of mine; no one told me the bugger brought a _gun_." He snorts, stealing the flask. "Got healed up right quick, though. That was when we actually had one or two healers in Freehold. Paid them well, but eventually..." Flynn motions vaguely, lost in thought. "Ah, well. Got more on my back, too."

How he could have more is _beyond_ Mathias, but he scoots backwards anyways to allow Flynn to turn about. It’s worse than he could’ve imagined; his breath catches in his throat at the sight.

The first- and most noticeable- scars are the long, thin lines of a whip running perpendicular to his spine. Some appear quite old, with how faded and white they are; others appear to have only been gained in the past few years. The mark of a brand sits upon the lower right of his back- though what it was has long since been whipped into obscurity. Mathias presses the pads of his fingers to the area, only for Flynn to tense up just the slightest.

“We don’t have to talk about that one,” he says, moving his hand away. Flynn gives a short, quiet hum, uncorking the flask to drink while Mathias continues.

Multiple other marks litter his back and sides; various stabs and slashes creating bumps and pits in Flynn’s skin. Mathias traces them carefully as he notices each one, moving on from those that seem to have an uncomfortable story attached. His heart is twisted up in his chest, and he can’t quite seem to control the furrow of his brow.

He would say he’s not sure why he does it, really, but that would be a damned lie. Something in his chest tightens, and Mathias leans forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to the scar on Flynn’s shoulder. He can feel the other man still in the middle of taking another swig. Lingering briefly, he moves to another mark, tracing it with his thumb before repeating the kiss. 

There’s a small ‘ _thud_ ’ as Flynn leans forward, pressing his forehead to the sides of the crow’s nest. He’s not protesting the attention- but Mathias leans back anyways, leaving a hand resting on the man’s spine.

He hears himself asking, “Is this alright?”

Flynn is silent for a moment- Mathias can hear him swallow- before giving a nod. “Yeah,” he speaks, “It’s alright.” A pause. Flynn mumbles, “You uh, don’t have to stop. Kinda nice.”

Well. He can’t really argue with that, and so he shuffles forward so he’s not leaning as far. His fingertips trace over every scar he can find, following them with the slow press of his mouth. Reverent, he thinks. Perhaps this is worship; hand and mouth acknowledging every inch of blemished skin- more than he’s ever given the Light. 

The Light has never made him feel _warmth_ like this, as far as he can remember. It’s never made him feel as if he had a purpose of any sort. But this, pouring the carefully kept contents of his heart into every brush of his lips… _Perhaps_ , he thinks, this could be something he gives every inch of himself to.

Despite his words of reassurance, Flynn is shaking. Mathias pauses again, bumping his nose gently into his spine. A question. There’s a long quiet, where he can hear Flynn sniffle. Curious, and worrying.

“Are you alright,” he asks again, “Or do you want me to stop?”

Flynn takes in a shuddering breath, seeming to try and center himself before responding. He sounds almost hoarse when he finally speaks. “It’s fine,” he starts, “It’s just a lot to… handle. Never really had…” A vague motion of his hand as he trails off. 

Thankfully, Mathias understands. He presses another careful kiss to Flynn’s shoulder blade, before the man speaks again.

“I’ve got another one,” Flynn starts, “That most folks don’t ever really notice.” His hand comes up, and Mathias watches with a raised brow as he slowly moves his ponytail aside. There, on the back of his neck, is a nearly completely faded, jagged line. “Long story short, uh. Was climbing up a fence- one of those ones with the pointy things on top- and slipped. Was somewhere about… _Tides_ , fifteen years ago? Didn’t even realize until a few months ago that I nearly--” Flynn cuts himself off there, breathing out noisily before taking a long drink from his flask.

That tight feeling in Mathias’ chest grows, and he lifts his hand to trace along the newly revealed skin. The thought that he could have missed out on this- on quips and smiles and lingering touches; on grand adventures and quiet nights…

He moves, shifting forward to wrap his arms around Flynn tightly. A hand presses over Mathias’ own where it’s laid against Flynn’s chest. It’s quiet, for a while, and then Mathias leans upwards to press a soft kiss to the back of his neck. He hears the other give a shaky sigh before laughing quietly.

“Gonna be honest with you,” Flynn says, “I didn’t expect this. Kinda thought you’d just get that twitch in your brow and demand to know who you need to hunt down.” He sounds almost nervous about it. Mathias huffs at the audacity- even if it’s an accurate assumption- and rests his forehead between Flynn’s shoulders.

He knows Flynn can feel him laughing as he says, “I haven’t gotten there, yet. I…” There’s a brief pause, before Mathias squeezes him again and kisses his shoulder. “...Had other priorities.” He hears Flynn snort, and pinches his side.

Flynn makes a sound of false indignation, swatting at Mathias’ hand. “Hey! None of that, now. We were having a moment.”

Mathias’ smiles into his skin, his voice fond as he murmurs, “I don’t think you’ve ever had a ‘moment’ in your life, Flynn.”

“ _I’ll have you know_ \--”

He immediately shuts up once Mathias returns to pressing kisses against his scars, head dropping towards his chest with an amused sigh. The Middenwake rocks on the waves, moonlight lights the planes of Flynn’s back, and Mathias can feel his pulse in his throat like a marching drum.

Flynn has taken his heart in his hand, and Mathias is content to let him hold it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just... want them to cuddle.


End file.
